Perfect World
by serenitysea
Summary: Post Succession. Sark is recaptured. And Sydney is assigned as his handler. Which, of course, you know is going to go very well. Sarkney.
1. Chapter 1

PERFECT WORLD | CHAPTER 1  
  
A/N: This is for all the Sarkney fans who were musing aloud about the possibility of Sydney being Sark's handler or vis versa. I have chosen to make Syd the handler in this story, primarily because--shameless plug here-- in "Deceive," Sark will have a role akin to being her handler and I didn't want to get the two mixed up. Now, I have a ton of work to do and very little time, but I wanted to post this. I promised I would, in fact. So here goes.  
  
Timeline/Spoilers:: Set after Succession. Also, for the sake of the story, Vaughn is already working again at the CIA.  
  
* * *  
  
They had lost Sark. I-need-to-justify-my-manliness-at-every-turn Lindsay had swooped in and freaked out the ransomers. Not only had they lost Sark, but they'd lost their CIA man, too. And she'd just spilled her guts in front of Vaughn's all-too perfect wife. Classic. A day in the life of Sydney Bristow. Welcome to the real world.  
  
She sighed heavily and sat down on the vacated cot. And bounced slightly. Boy, talk about sleeping on a rock. This thing was harder than the mattress she'd had at sleep-away camp. Except then, she had begged her father to go and been so embarrassed about calling home to complain about the mattress that there wasn't anything she could do about it.  
  
Sydney pulled off her jacket and bundled it up neatly in the shape of a pillow. Then she closed her eyes. If anyone came looking for her, the last place they'd never find her.  
  
"Ahem."  
  
With evident irritation, she reluctantly opened her eyes and swung her feet to the ground. "What's a girl got to do to get some sleep arou--" her breath caught in her throat. "--Sark?"  
  
To his credit, he somehow managed to keep the smirk on his face for only eight seconds. Then it dissolved into the tight-lipped stare he'd given her lately. "It would appear, Sydney, that you are in my cell. As much as I'd like to not spend the rest of my life in there, if I don't somehow get you to trade places with me, I fear that the level of my persuasive powers will be the least of my problems."  
  
Not even remotely embarrassed at being caught in a top-security prison cell, she slowly walked over to the door.  
  
"Well this is rather ironic, don't you think?" He said, allowing the smirk to surface once more, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "Somehow I feel we were in nearly the same position less than 48 hours ago."  
  
"Open the door, Sark." Her eyes had grown hard and she was in no mood to play games.  
  
"As you wish."  
  
They changed places and she locked his cell with a satisfying clang. There was something lingering there, under the facade of his nonchalant behavior that was just begging to be let out. She saw it and wanted to pry it out of him, but suddenly felt very tired and just to go home.  
  
"Sydney?" She met his eyes exhaustedly. "What is it, Sark?"  
  
He studied her with such closeness that it began to make her uncomfortable. When he didn't say anything, a familiar light came back into her eyes and she planted her hands on her hips.  
  
"*Well*?"  
  
This time he smiled at her innocently. "Nothing. Though I expect I'll see you sometime in the near future."  
  
"Don't count on it," she snarled, walking away.  
  
Sark took note of the small box he had been briefly set free from and sighed, unaware that its temporary previous tenant had done the same thing. Same box. Same place. Not exactly the same time, but it sure was boring. His eyes caught on the dark jacket forgotten on the cot and he grinned to himself.  
  
Well. Perhaps a few things had changed.  
  
Sydney would be back, that much he knew. If for nothing else, she'd come to reclaim her garment. But until then, he at least had a pillow. And it had been a very long day.  
  
* * *  
  
"Okay, not to sound totally out of line here, but what's going on? Why is Sark back downstairs--unescorted, might I add--and when did we get him back?"  
  
Dixon motioned for her to sit and she did, next to her father. He gave her a reassuring look that was the Jack Bristow equivalent to squeezing her hand comfortingly.  
  
"We traced the car to the outside of the desert. There were CIA agents waiting. They ambushed the car and recaptured Sark."  
  
"What about the other agent?"  
  
Dixon looked at the ground briefly. "He was killed."  
  
She closed her eyes momentarily, trying to rid the feel of the hot desert air on her neck. "So what do we do now?"  
  
Jack cleared his throat. "That's why you're here, Sydney. With your previous experience, and seeing how well things have gone with an arrangement like this, we've decided to give him a little more freedom."  
  
"I'm not sure I understand."  
  
"You've been assigned as Sark's handler."  
  
* * *  
  
She flew out the office and unconsciously headed straight for Vaughn's desk. It wasn't until she saw the perfect blonde woman perched on his chair, smiling up at her husband, that she realized she no longer had the right to go to him and ask him to help fix all her problems.  
  
Jack saw his daughter standing in the middle of the JTF office, looking for all in the world like a lost little girl and his heart went out to her. Catching her on the shoulder, he brought her to the Vaughn's.  
  
Vaughn gave him a respectful smile. "Jack. Sydney."  
  
Lauren hesitantly smiled in return. "Hello. We were just discussing the new arrangement. If you have any questions--"  
  
"--Wait a minute. You *knew* about this? Did everyone find out before me?" Sydney looked at her father in askance. He directed his gaze back to Lauren.  
  
"No," she rose carefully, as if speaking to an animal that was spooked, keeping her eyes on Sydney. "Originally, I was going to be assigned as Mr. Sark's handler. But it was agreed, since I am already assisting with Mr. Sloane, that it would be prudent to assign Sark to someone else, and preferably, someone who had worked with Sark before."  
  
"Lauren suggested you." Vaughn finally spoke up, attracting Sydney's glare, taking the heat off his wife. "And I agreed."  
  
Not even caring how she sounded at the point, Sydney rolled her eyes sharply. "Oh and I suppose that was because I am so experienced with him. May I remind you that the last time I spent with Sark, he nearly got us both killed?"  
  
Vaughn's eyes shuttered and he shook his head lightly. "No, Sydney. The last time you were with Sark. . ."  
  
Her anger flared briefly in her eyes, and whether it was directed at him, or herself, he didn't know. But before he could do anything to placate her, she stormed out of the offices, leaving half a dozen agents staring in her wake.  
  
Weiss sidled up to Lauren and said nothing as Jack walked away in the opposite direction. "What happened now?"  
  
Lauren frowned. "Sydney. . . just found out she's been assigned to Sark."  
  
"Whoa. Talk about the job from hell."  
  
"*Weiss.*" Vaughn shook his head curtly, brushing past him in the direction she'd gone.  
  
Weiss looked at Lauren, who shrugged and fell back into the chair with a heavy sigh. "Looks like she's back."  
  
His brows rose. "And pissed more than ever."  
  
* * *  
  
"Get up."  
  
Sark ambled over to the glass. "Hello, Sydney. I thought you had left for the day."  
  
"You *knew*." She accused, seemingly unaware that she still, was without her jacket. A tiny smile grew in his mind and he was glad he'd hidden it underneath the paper-thin mattress.  
  
He took the opportunity to note the definition in her arms. "How hard do you have to work to get them looking like that? I swear, between you and your mother, I think you've got the world beat when it comes to looking fit."  
  
She crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
Sark burst out laughing and placed a hand on the glass for support. "Oh my-- you thought I was--"  
  
"--When did you find out?" Sydney refused to let go of the initial subject. "And don't ignore my question this time, or try and distract me with crude comments about my."  
  
"Arms?" Sark helpfully supplied. She rolled her eyes and gave him a warning look. "All right. When the CIA brought me back, in the van, I was informed that Dixon had agreed with some man with a girl's name--" at her confused look, he interjected, "--*Lindsay*--to allow me field missions. Apparently, they were impressed with my level of cooperation before and--"  
  
"Okay, stop." She put a hand to her head, trying to process his statement. "Why didn't you tell me before?"  
  
His brow lifted. "What, and miss all this? No. This was entirely worth it. Besides--at least I'm behind glass this time."  
  
"I just can't believe. . ."  
  
"Oh, are you speechless? At being assigned to me? I'm touched, Sydney, I really am."  
  
"Yeah," she muttered, turning her back on him. "In the head."  
  
"I heard that."  
  
She moved her neck to see him staring down at her mock-disapprovingly. "I don't care."  
  
He did. He cared that her back was nearly plastered to the glass and that the periwinkle shell was nearly see-through and he could catch a trace of her bra.  
  
Hollow footsteps sounded in the hallway and they both looked up to see Vaughn striding confidently towards them. Sydney straightened up and Sark, out of view, rolled his eyes.  
  
"Look, Syd, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. With this, I mean."  
  
He had somehow maneuvered into her line of vision, effectively cutting off the connection between handler and--albeit reluctant--agent. Behind him, Sark was making faces. She shifted her eyes momentarily to glare at him and returned her attention to Vaughn.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Syd--" Sark gave a mournfully, angst-filled look at this, sticking out his lower lip pitifully. She bit her lip to keep from smirking and glared at him again. This time, Vaughn turned around.  
  
Sark had his hands in his pockets, standing silently, the picture of innocence.  
  
He put his hands on her shoulders tentatively and lowered his head to look directly in her eyes. "If you're sure--"  
  
At this, Sark rolled his eyes again and shook his head, knowing she was expecting him to make some sort of action. He cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Agent Vaughn, I believe I was speaking to my handler. We were having a very important conversation and I'd like to get some rest before today turns into tomorrow." He pointedly glanced at the door.  
  
Slightly ruffled, Vaughn looked at Sydney for help, as if saying, "Can you believe this guy?" She crossed her arms again and remained silent. When he didn't move, her eyebrows rose.  
  
"Okay, then. I'll uh--I'll see you later." He headed for the door.  
  
As the bars rose in a mournful tone to lost heroes and hopes, Sydney called after him. He stopped, light in his eyes and a expectant smile on his face.  
  
"Sorry. Agent/handler business. You know how it is."  
  
When it was clear she would elaborate no further on the subject, he cleared his throat awkwardly and ducked under the bars before they could lower again.  
  
Once out of sight, she couldn't stifle a laugh. With a hand over her smiling mouth, she lifted her eyes to Sark and saw that while he wasn't smiling, his eyes once again were lit with good humor, as if they had just shared a private joke.  
  
"I can't believe we just did that. I don't know what came over me." She gave him a questioning look. "Why *did* you just do that, any way?"  
  
"He was so obviously distressing you, and no offense Sydney, but when we are talking about matters that involve my life, I would like to have your completely attention. Getting shot because we didn't factor in an alarm because you were too busy being angry at a married man is not exactly the death I had in mind."  
  
She blinked. "I have been awake *way* too long."  
  
"I'd offer you my cot, but it would involve some very compromising positions since I'm loathe to sleep on the floor. Thought it might actually be better, at this point."  
  
"That is one seriously uncomfortable bed," she agreed, smiling at his comment. "And I think it's a little too soon for us to be that familiar with each other."  
  
"It's nice to know you haven't completely ruled out the possibility," he smirked. "But now I must insist you get some sleep. Agent Vaughn aside, I do need your brain if we're too pull this off successfully and it has been a long day. I'm told our next mission will be quite soon."  
  
"Anything else you want to share?"  
  
He bit his lip, hesitating. "Only that the shade of blue is really quite lovely on you, Sydney. Now get some rest."  
  
She left that night with a tiny smile on her face.  
  
It was the first time she'd smiled in weeks.  
  
* * *  
  
Okay? Well? Obviously, the tension is going to come up sooner, moreso when they disagree on how things should be done, but for now, I just wanted Sark to be able to pull her out of her foul mood.  
  
I'm off to go close a challenge and post this. . . reviews are greatly appreciated! 


	2. Chapter 2

PERFECT WORLD | CHAPTER 2  
  
A/N: I promised a chapter in the near future and here it is. Hopefully everyone who asked for a PM got one. If you didn't just let me know and I'll add you to the list. The middle of this chapter is fun. I had a blast writing it. Lots of Sark/Sarkney banter. Hee.  
  
* * *  
  
Morning came far too quickly. Even with her second cup of coffee, Sydney felt like she was moving through a fog. It didn't matter which direction she looked in, or how far she walked, it still remained the bleak, empty wasteland she was getting more and more used to seeing. The fact that she was becoming resigned to it was what scared her.  
  
Actually, what really scared her was that Dixon had just asked her something and she had no idea what he was speaking of.  
  
She ventured hesitantly, "Sure, that seems like a good idea."  
  
For a moment, she saw incredulity wash over his face before dissolving back into the mask he'd worn ever since she'd gotten back. "Well then. It's settled. Lauren, I'll leave it up to you to schedule a meeting with Sloane. Sydney and Sark will meet you there, along with a dozen or so armed guards."  
  
*WHAT?!?*  
  
"I'm sorry, is this really necessary?"  
  
Dixon, bless him, thought she was speaking of the guards. "As glad as I am to see you adjusting to your role with Sark, we still have to treat him like the prisoner he is. The guards are just a safety precaution. Someone we're unaware of could have a vendetta against either man and where better to take care of that but at a simple conference? No, it's too risky. That's why I assigned the guards."  
  
Still in shock, Sydney managed to nod her assent. Lauren looked at her with a mixture of approval and reluctant admiration--for what, she didn't know-- and probably would have attempted to talk to her had Sydney not flown out of the room, heading for the once place she hoped to get some straight answers.  
  
* * *  
  
"You knew."  
  
Sark looked up from the floor pattern he was studying to see Sydney fuming. He got up to meet her. "We've really got to stop meeting like this."  
  
"When did you find out?"  
  
Confusion washed over his features. "Find out what? What's going on? No one's told me anything since last night."  
  
Sydney looked taken aback. "So you didn't ask for a meeting with Sloane."  
  
"What? Why would I ask to see that goat? Last I heard, he's switched sides--not that anyone with two plugs of sense would believe that--but there's really nothing we can do for each other."  
  
Sydney leaned a shoulder against the glass. "Yeah, well, apparently, Lauren and Dixon don't see it that way. They want you to collaborate and dredge up anything you know on the Covenant. I guess they figure that if you're together, you'll be more likely to let something slip, or give up information."  
  
Sark fixed her with a gauging stare. "Sydney. I have given the CIA everything I know. I have done nothing but cooperate. And now you are telling me they want me to be in the same room with Arvin Sloane--a man whom, had this been a different time completely--would have been grounds enough to kill us both."  
  
"Yep."  
  
He threw his hands up in the air. "This is insane."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Did you at least fight it? Try to change it? Perhaps move to avoid it altogether?"  
  
Guilt nagged at her conscience. "Not exactly." When he didn't answer, she confessed, "I wasn't really paying attention."  
  
"Bloody. Hell." He closed his eyes and his lips moved slightly, as if in prayer.  
  
"Hey--you're the one who told me to get more rest!"  
  
"Yes, I did." He replied calmly. "But not in a debriefing where they have my life in their hands!"  
  
Sydney had the good grace to look chastened. "I'm sorry. But I'm new to this whole thing, I don't know how it works just yet."  
  
Sark looked unimpressed. "How hard can it be for someone with your level of intelligence? You go into a meeting, you listen for information on your charge, and you deal with it accordingly. How is that difficult?" He sighed and started to pace the length of the small cube.  
  
Sydney bit back a giggle, but not before it escaped halfway. Sark's eyes jumped to her face.  
  
"Don't you dare laugh. This is not funny in any way. We are talking Sloane. He is a dangerous, evil man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants."  
  
Her lip curved up on one side. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were afraid. And that description, could have easily been applied to someone else in this room."  
  
Sark look exasperated. "Don't tell me they want you to dress up as a man."  
  
She didn't know if he was deliberately being obtuse or he really didn't view himself as the ruthless man she had known. Either way, his comment sent her into a full-fledged grin, the brightness of which left Sark momentarily speechless.  
  
The hilarity of the situation must have hit him as well, for moments later, he was smirking in his usual fashion. In better spirits, he added, "So it's safe to assume you'll be there to protect me, then?"  
  
Sydney met his gaze with mirth in her eyes and mock-solemnly promised, "Sark, I will personally make sure no one lays a hand on you."  
  
"Just as long as the rule applies to everyone but you. I may need support, you know, getting out of the van. Walking up steps. You see, I've been confined in this box for so very long that it's a wonder I remember how to move."  
  
"You move very well." The impact of her statement hit a second later and she added, "For someone who professes not to."  
  
Sark continued to watch her with that intent look that had made her antsy before and was appearing to have the same affect now.  
  
She brushed off a piece of lint on her shoulder and met his eyes once. "They'll be taking you out in less than three hours." Feeling slightly impish, she added, "So I expect there will be nothing but cooperation on your part."  
  
He rolled his eyes and walked away.  
  
* * *  
  
For weaker men, being surrounded by over a dozen armed guards would have been cause to faint or at least clam up in anxiety. But Arvin Sloane was not a weak man by any standards, least of all his. And so, it was with great deliberation, he leaned over to Sark--who was sitting less than half a seat away--to whisper, "Mine is prettier."  
  
Sark's eyes never left the door where he knew Sydney and Lauren to be discussing the arrangement of their collaboration as he blandly replied, "Sure, if you prefer the porcelain doll with no smarts approach. At least mine has brains and a track record of using them occasionally." This morning, of course, excluded.  
  
When Sloane opened his mouth, Sark continued, "And I know for a certainty you want Sydney as your handler. Even you would tire of messing with Ms. Reed's simple conscience. There's not enough of a challenge to keep you occupied. Whereas Sydney."  
  
Sloane hissed under his breath, "You don't deserve her."  
  
Mildly insulted, Sark retorted, "Neither do you. But it doesn't matter, really, because she's mine and not yours."  
  
* * *  
  
"I will not let you interrogate him about Lazeray while Sloane is in the room! If you wanted to do that, all you had to do was schedule a meeting with--" understanding dawned in her eyes as she continued, "--*me*. And then I would have seen to it that you got some time with Sark. But this is not the time or the place to be arguing about it, and there are more important things than tracking down the killer!" Never mind the fact that the killer appeared to be her. This whole conversation was making her a bit nauseous.  
  
"I understand that this bothers you, and as Dixon said earlier this morning, I am glad you've seemingly fit into this role so well, but it is one of the NSC's priorities and I want to know if he'll say anything."  
  
Sydney snorted. "First off, if you knew anything about Sark--which, you so obviously don't--you would know that he does not open up to people. The chances of him doing so are slim to none and when you add Arvin Sloane into the equation, they become obsolete. Secondly--and this is something you need to remember--this is *not* an NSC operation. It is a CIA op. Which means, we do things my way--because I am a *CIA* agent and have been given the authority to get this done. It also means that we will be asking more important questions, something that will apply to *both* of those men sitting outside this door, instead of just one."  
  
Lauren's eyes flashed and Sydney momentarily wondered what Vaughn had ever seen in her. Didn't he know her nostrils flared when she was really angry? "You just don't want me harassing Sark! If you weren't his handler, you could care less what happens to him."  
  
And there was light at the end of the tunnel! "If that's what helps you sleep at night." Because she really cared *that* much about the man. Yeah, *okay*.  
  
She took a deep breath. "I would like a moment with Sark before we start this meeting."  
  
"Fine," Lauren spat, leaving the room.  
  
Sydney put her hand on the table for support and waited for him to come in. When the door opened again, she gave him a faded smile. "Hi. We need to talk."  
  
* * *  
  
Sloane had, once again, dropped obscure hints about the Covenant. He'd messed with all of their heads, including Sark. Lauren looked like 10 years of exhaustion had been added and Sydney momentarily felt a twinge of regret for pushing so hard before.  
  
She looked through the clear glass doors and saw the sunlight and was very glad that she had. Otherwise, they'd still be in there, all trying to construct mental barriers for Sloane to try and yank down. A hand-cuffed Sark was quietly walking in front of them and hadn't said much since leaving the room.  
  
It wasn't until they got outside that Sydney got the feeling something was terribly wrong. It was too quiet.  
  
She looked around and saw no one. It was like a ghost town. A flash of black caught her eye and before she knew what was happening, she and Lauren were lying next to each other, face down. How many times had she been in this very same position with Vaughn? It hurt just to think about.  
  
Wait a second. 'Sark.'  
  
She turned her head to catch a glimpse of him and was rewarded with a kick to her head.  
  
Something flat and brownish landed with a thump next to her face and she flinched. They were instructed not to move until they had counted to a hundred but as soon as she heard the squealing of tires, she looked up. Bullets flew over their heads and Sydney grabbed Lauren to pull her behind a trashcan for safety.  
  
When the smoke had cleared and it was once again eerily quiet, Sydney peered over can and saw what had landed next to her before. A journal of some sort.  
  
As she set about retrieving it, Lauren asked, "Why didn't you wait and just count like they had asked?"  
  
She turned the journal over in her hands. 'Rambaldi'. Dammit. "Because I never do what they ask."  
  
* * *  
  
She was sitting on her couch when the telephone rang.  
  
"And how are things in sunny California?" Cocky. British. Wait a minute. She knew that voice.  
  
"Sark. Where are you? What's going on?"  
  
"I'm not quite sure where I am. A few moments ago I was in a small room with no windows and some questioning brown substance on the floor. I just picked the lock and found a phone--but this will have to be brief because I think they'll be making rounds again in ten minutes and I don't want to get lost in the shuffle."  
  
It occurred to her that he was taking a serious risk by calling her and the death-grip she had on the phone relaxed. "Then why are you even doing this? You could get killed."  
  
"Oh? Is that concern I hear in your voice?"  
  
"Dream. On." Her tone noticeably softened. "Seriously though. Are you sure this is secure?"  
  
"Relatively speaking, yes." Sydney laughed and he chuckled at their present situation. "But, you are my handler--I'm just loving that term more with every day--and I'm requesting an extraction. Preferably before they chop off my head."  
  
She grimly promised to do the best she could and swore she could feel him relax, just that tiny bit. Sark informed her that he had, at best, a little under five minutes left and they decided it would be prudent to end the call shortly, leaving him to find out what he could about his captors and where, exactly, he was. Of course, Marshall would trace the call in the morning, but until then.  
  
"By the way, have you seen my jacket? I could have sworn I was wearing it last when I was with you."  
  
"What color is it?"  
  
"Black."  
  
A loaded pause followed. For a moment, Sydney thought he had been found out. "No. Haven't seen a trace of it."  
  
"Oh." For some reason, she wasn't really thinking about the jacket. "Okay then, I'm going to see if Dixon will get a team together for you."  
  
"I appreciate it."  
  
She sighed and tried to imagine gratitude on Sark's face. Nope. Wasn't working. "I'm sure you do."  
  
* * *  
  
End chapter 2.  
  
Hey wow! 5 1/2 pages! That's very cool for an update. It's up to you guys to read and review. 


	3. Chapter 3

PERFECT WORLD | CHAPTER THREE  
  
A/N: This chapter is a little darker, and you won't see the humorous Sark we're so used to. It might have something to do with this past week's episode of Smallville, and how Lex was. well, getting sidetracked here. Also, if you notice a big space between a part of Jack's lines in the story, it's because I tried to put in the eye of Rambaldi and the formatting at ff.net was having none of it.  
  
* * *  
  
Dixon gave her a measuring look. "Sydney, I don't hold Sark's capture against you--I think you're a very capable handler, but the situation was beyond your control."  
  
"I've spoken with Mr. Sloane. He said he had no idea it was going to happen." Lauren spoke in that accent that wasn't quite British or anything else distinct. Sydney wondered what would happen if the woman was ever forced to go on a mission. She'd probably forget what nationality she was supposed to be and give it all away.  
  
"Sure he did," she snorted, "And I'm still Prophecy Girl."  
  
Jack gave her a reproving look and cleared his throat, drawing the inquisitive gaze off his daughter. "We received contact from Sark late last night. Marshall has been working on it and will hopefully have a location soon."  
  
Dixon nodded. "I want Lauren and Sydney to write out their debriefs and we'll proceed once we know where he is."  
  
Sydney caught her father's eye on the way out and he led her to an empty conference room, shutting the doors, and pulling out a familiar looking pen.  
  
"Dad, when they took Sark yesterday, the left this." She withdrew a 3x5 photo of the book.  
  
"Rambaldi," he breathed, noting the and cursing under his breath. "Dammit." He glanced up at her. "Did you read it?"  
  
She shook her head. "It was blank. It looked like some sort of journal or something. But I put it somewhere safe for now, until we figure out what to do with it. I didn't mention it in the debrief, and I hid before Lauren could see it."  
  
Jack opened his mouth to speak, probably to lecture her on the dangers of withholding information--not like their entire family hadn't done [I]that[/I] before; God, they wrote the book on it--but was interrupted by someone tapping on the glass doors. Marshall was gesturing frantically. Jack clicked off the pen and they walked out to meet the excited techno geek.  
  
"What is it, Marshall?"  
  
"I've found Sark! I traced the call backwards, starting from Sydney's house, through the LA lines, and then over the Pacific, to Asia, past--"  
  
"Marshall." Jack halted him in mid-ramble. "Where is he?"  
  
He was out of breath and breathing heavily. "Moscow. He's in Russia."  
  
* * *  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
Sydney barely held herself back from rolling her eyes. When had Dixon lost all his sense of adventure?  
  
"He could be killed," she helpfully pointed out, trying to sway his decision.  
  
"Then that's a risk we're going to have to take. There's too much animosity between the US and Russia right now, and accusing them of harboring a group of known terrorists isn't exactly going to smooth things over."  
  
Okay, so he had a point.  
  
"So we're just going to let him die?"  
  
"If it comes down to it, yes."  
  
She took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm glad to see you can just rationalize something like this."  
  
"Sydney--"  
  
She held up a hand and started to walk away.  
  
"Agent Bristow--" his angry tone gave her pause. "--You are not allowed to move in on your own. That's a direct order." In a softer tone, he added, "Let it go."  
  
Sydney gave him such a cold, blank look it chilled him. It was as if she had ice in her blood. One thing she'd apparently learned with mastery was the Bristow Mask.  
  
Still, he forced himself to add, "Is that clear?"  
  
A razor-thin smirk twisted her lips and the fury was coming off her in waves. "Crystal."  
  
* * *  
  
He called again later that night.  
  
"Is the sun still shining?"  
  
She frowned. He was slurring his words. Sark never slurred. He usually spoke with such precision she wondered if he was programmed with the perfect accent. In any case, he could give Lauren some lessons. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing. What you hear in my voice is merely the result of the first stage of interrogation. The second level is to begin tomorrow."  
  
Sydney closed her eyes against the image of Sark being beaten and tortured. She'd been in his position before and knew what it was like. For once, he hadn't done anything wrong and was paying in blood.  
  
"I gather--" he coughed deeply, leading her to believe that he really was worse off than he'd led her to imagine, "--Dixon shot down your request for an extraction?"  
  
"It doesn't matter. I'm getting you out."  
  
He sighed deeply, as if accepting the inevitable. "Sydney, you can't do this by yourself. The security alone is enough to make your head spin. You'd be fried before you entered the front door."  
  
"I don't care. I'm going to get backup."  
  
Sark laughed shortly, but it wasn't an expression of humor. It was bleak, and there was no promise of his usual smirk behind it. "Who? I can't imagine anyone being up for a job like this. Everyone you could ask has been a victim of my job at one times or another. You CIA agents have a habit of holding a grudge."  
  
"You're getting out. I swear it." She was being stubbornly optimistic, they both knew it, but it was the only thing she had to go on right now. She would not fail at her first real job since she'd gotten back. More importantly, she would not fail him. There was too much at stake. "But I won't lift a finger to help you until you stop behaving like it's already over. They haven't schedule your execution yet--there's still time to make this work."  
  
"5 PM, tomorrow afternoon."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That's when I'm scheduled to die."  
  
Sydney glanced down at the Rambaldi journal in her hand. "Not if I can help it."  
  
* * *  
  
She couldn't go to anyone in the CIA. And, as her first mission after Hong Kong had proved all too clearly, most of her contacts were dead. Her father couldn't even help her with transportation, because he was too busy keeping the NSC from finding out the true identity of Lazeray's murderer.  
  
Which left her with exactly one option. She looked up at the other person in the room.  
  
"Sydney. It's good to see you."  
  
* * *  
  
End chapter 3. 


	4. Chapter 4

PERFECT WORLD | CHAPTER 4  
  
"I need your help."  
  
Sloane gestured for her to sit down. "I assumed so. You've made abundantly clear what you think of me and it must be a very dire situation indeed if I'm your last resort." He clasped his hands together and smiled. "What do you need?"  
  
She took a deep breath and silently hoped she wasn't making the wrong choice. "You."  
  
* * *  
  
Sloane had remained silent as she'd given her proposal: In exchange for helping her extract Sark from the Covenant's grasp, she would willingly hand over the Rambaldi journal.  
  
They both knew he still had the vial of liquid that made page 47 show up, along with the other artifacts and that substance. This journal was made of the same material. All he had to do was expose it.  
  
Sloane had hesitated only minutely, because she'd demanded he'd be her only backup, her partner. There was a very real possibility that they could--and would--die. That he was willing to take that chance meant little to her. While he would chalk it up to sentimental value--*gag*--she didn't question it. His eyes had lit up when she'd revealed the journal and she then knew that the trump card was in her hand.  
  
"Okay. Say I help you and we do this. What sort of timeframe are we looking at?"  
  
"Under twelve hours."  
  
His brows rose high in shock. "Sydney, there is no way we'll be able to come up with a plan to get him out that fast. We need a layout of the building, we're going to need transportation, ammunition, possibly disguises--"  
  
"--And we both know you can do this. Sending me on a mission two hours after a briefing didn't faze you when we worked at SD-6. Why should it bother you now?"  
  
He took in her defensive stance, the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, and decided to file it away for later notice. "You are referring to time when I had unlimited resources at my disposal. Things are quite different these days."  
  
Sydney refused to back down. "Then work faster."  
  
Sloane nodded, as if contemplating her statement, showing no expression at her cutting remark. When she was halfway out the door, he called, "Oh, and Sydney? Do you suppose your father approves of this?"  
  
She let the door close behind her and Arvin Sloane allowed a smile to break across his face.  
  
Her father was still her weakness.  
  
But that didn't explain why she was so eager to free Sark, or how he'd gotten there in the first place.  
  
* * *  
  
Her phone beeped once as she exited the building and she dug through her bag. She had one new voicemail. Apparently, Sloane had some sort of block on incoming phone calls that weren't routed through his central lines. It shouldn't have surprised her in the least, but as she listened to her father's voice over the small earpiece, she was almost glad he did.  
  
"--And Sydney, you are going to have to trust that he will make it out of there alive. I know you're going to want to question him about the Covenant's methods, that you hope he'll be more receptive somehow if you're the one asking the questions, but you must remember, this is Sark. He will do whatever he wants. If he hasn't found a way out yet. there may not be one."  
  
She ended the call abruptly, cutting off her father's parting words.  
  
Yes. It was Sark.  
  
And they were both in this deeper than they'd ever thought possible.  
  
She got in the car and reached underneath the passenger seat, feeling the smooth leather under her fingers. The Eye of Rambaldi was embossed on the cover and she shivered. After everything, it still came down to this.  
  
And there was a very good possibility that she still was, in fact, "Prophecy Girl."  
  
* * *  
  
Sark tossed a pebble against the wall with his right hand. His left was chained up, causing him all sorts of discomfort, until he realized that the most logical position would be a half-sit, half-lean against the wall while keeping his other muscles moving.  
  
Sydney had sounded desperate over the phone. It wasn't like her to let that tone in her voice slip through, unless she was really stressed or under the wire. It would do that, low, breathy thing where she practically hissed in anger. In that respect, she reminded him very much of a cat.  
  
He didn't like animals much.  
  
He was beginning to like Sydney.  
  
The pebble bounced off the wall and he threw it back again. Another 46 minutes until the guards switched. He'd have to count well into the thousands until then. That could actually work to his advantage. Maybe then he'd have some sort of news to tell her.  
  
Sark resumed his rhythmatic pebble tossing and sighed. A cough broke loose from his battered ribs and he frowned. Getting sick was the last thing he needed. Perhaps some rest would do him good.  
  
Yes. That was a good idea. He'd just close his eyes for a little while and wake up when it was time to call Sydney again.  
  
* * *  
  
She stared at her phone, willing it to ring.  
  
It didn't.  
  
Sydney threw it at the couch in frustration, and started to pace the length of her living room. There was a knock on the door and she hurriedly opened it, hoping for some sort of message from Sloane.  
  
It was Weiss.  
  
"Hey, Syd! What's up? Wanna toss back a couple of beers and watch the Kings game?"  
  
The Kings were playing tonight. Of course. How could she forget? Silly Sydney, you're supposed to be able to compartmentalize and tuck away thoughts of beat-up Sark to the back of your mind while you drink beer with your almost-roommate and wait for a sign from the man you hate most in the world.  
  
She forced a tired smile onto her face. "Sorry, Weiss, I must have forgotten. I'm actually a little tired, so if you don't mind taking a rain check this time around--"  
  
The sharp trilling of her phone sounded in the room and she nearly cleared the sofa to get to it.  
  
"Hello?" She breathlessly answered.  
  
"Sydney. I've found a way in." Her body sagged in disappointment. It was only Sloane.  
  
Suddenly remembering that Weiss was in the doorway, watching her with rapt interest, she replied, "That's great. My Dad will be so glad you've found the print."  
  
"Instead of being confused, or trying to decipher the cryptic statement you just made, I'm going to assume there's someone nearby you don't want to hear this phone call."  
  
She gave Weiss a reassuring smile and continued, "Of course, that sounds reasonable. When should I stop by and pick it up?"  
  
"I'll see you in 20 minutes at the bridge. Oh, and Sydney? Make sure you bring the book."  
  
The smile faltered briefly on her face. "Of course." She let the call end and turned to Weiss apologetically. "I'm sorry, Weiss. I have to go pick up this picture for my dad, and the supplier is really eccentric about payment and meeting locations. I promise I'm not blowing you off or anything."  
  
He smiled easily. "Hey, no big deal. It's the playoffs, remember? We'll just catch the next game."  
  
"Sounds like a plan," she kissed him on the cheek, ushering him out the door. "If I don't see you later tonight, I'll catch up with you tomorrow at work."  
  
"Okay. And hey, I'm gonna want to get a look at this picture. It must be pretty impressive if Jack Bristow wants it." He called down the hallway.  
  
Sydney closed the door and leaned against it. She slowly counted to 50 and then sprung into action. Getting to the bridge would be no problem. Getting her gear and remaining undetected, however, was another thing entirely.  
  
* * *  
  
"We infiltrate here," Sloane pointed to red circle on the map. It was a layout of the Covenant's facilities in Moscow. He didn't tell her where he obtained it, and she didn't ask. They were flying over the Atlantic in a non-descript jet as he detailed the game plan. "Sark is probably being held somewhere around here, in the capture section. Security is heavy, and we're going to need to knock out the power before we go in."  
  
"Won't the guards have night vision goggles?"  
  
"No. The chances of successfully killing the electricity are so slim, they don't carry the extra bulk."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Number one, it's guarded by two men with Uzis. And number two, no one has ever managed to do it."  
  
The tone in his voice suggested that it had been attempted before and met with failure. It sure gave her a warm fuzzy feeling inside.  
  
"What about our exit? We don't know what kind of condition Sark's in and he'll probably slow us down. By the time I reach him, they'll have figured out something is up."  
  
He gestured to another circle on the map. "The roof in the observatory is made of glass. You will have a grapnel and climbing set strong enough to clear both you and Sark of building. The roof is surprisingly manned by a single guard. Take him out and you're home free, for the chopper will be waiting on the other end of the building."  
  
She fingered the fringe of her braid. "Where will you be?"  
  
"After you turn out the lights, I'll cover you on the entrance to the building. Once you're in, the helicopter will be waiting in a nearby field. I'll guide the pilot to the roof, and we'll wait for you there."  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "How do I know you won't just leave me there?"  
  
He smiled. "Sydney, do you honestly think I would come this far to desert you? I had my chance before we left the States." A shiver raced down her spine. "But I would never leave you. You mean far too much for me to ever do that."  
  
She angled her body so she could stare out the window instead of at his face and tried to focus on her mission. In and out. Before anyone knew what happened.  
  
Just because Sark hadn't called her didn't necessarily mean he was dead.  
  
Sydney looked at her watch. They had just about two hours left. Great. Nothing like pressure to make a job easier.  
  
* * *  
  
True to his word, Sloane covered for her as she took out the two guards. Then helped her neatly dispose of them in a nearby shed. He gave her thumbs up, which she gamely returned with a shark's smile, and sprinted for the front doors. That was the last she saw of him.  
  
The compound was eerily quiet, and even though she had night vision underneath her ski mask, Sydney knew she was going to have to be careful. Sure enough, around the first corner, there were two guards waiting for her. She ducked her head around and then back again. And three more down the other corridor. Insider her upper left pocket were tiny remote grenades. Where Sloane had gotten them, she didn't want to know. Probably leftover reserves from SD-6 that he had squirreled away in some villa somewhere.  
  
She threw one down the farthest corridor and watched as they all ran towards the faint 'chinking' noise. When she was certain there were all five down there, she hit the button inside her glove. That section of the hallway detonated, bringing down the roof. Even if they had been alerted to her presence by now, their route to her was blocked. They'd have to go the way she came. And she wasn't going back that way.  
  
From her pack, Sydney grabbed a penlight and attached it to the end of her gun, heading down the hallway, and ducking in another one. Sure enough, true to the plans they'd studied on the plane ride over, there were ten cells lining the walls. She flashed the penlight in each one, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar blonde hair. It wasn't until she reached the eighth cell that she began to get worried. Not only were they all empty, filled with bones, but since the lights were out, there really was no way to do a thorough search.  
  
Determined to find him despite these setbacks, she slowed her movement and carefully searched the ninth cell. The light caught a flash of something dark, and she stilled. Going even slower this time, she scaled every inch, landing on something curled up in the far corner. It was blonde, huddled in a ball, and, from the looks of it, shivering.  
  
She cursed under her breath and brought out the mini-laser cutter. Seconds later, she'd kicked down the bar and was inside, pulling Sark to his feet gently. The skin under her hand felt chafed and she used the light to see how red and roughed up it was.  
  
"My god," she breathed, giving it closer consideration. "What did they do to you?"  
  
He snatched his hand back from her grasp and looked at her in the dark. "I'm not going to ask how you got in. But it sounds like we've got to go."  
  
Startled out of her reverie and realizing that there was more to this than met the eye, she nodded. "Okay. We have to go this way--" she stuck her head out and started to move, only to be jerked back sharply by Sark.  
  
Two seconds later, a wave of gunfire echoed in the hallway and she closed her eyes, breathing heavily against his chest. Even though they were in a Covenant hideout, with one injured party and no light, she felt safe. She took a moment to savor the feeling and refused to think of what it meant.  
  
"Thanks," Sydney whispered softly.  
  
Sark's hand moved clumsily over her shoulder, then her face, before reaching the bars of the cell. "Not a problem. They should be gone now. Let's go."  
  
* * *  
  
Getting out of the prisoner area was actually rather easy. Sark had stopped her outside a door and said, "Wait here."  
  
She'd given him a dubious look that of course he couldn't see and he added, "It will only take a second."  
  
True to his word, he reappeared moments later, looking no different.  
  
"What--?" She asked.  
  
He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Now--about this escape plan. I'm assuming you do have one."  
  
She stopped. "Why no. I was just sort of making it up as I went along."  
  
Sark elbowed her and gestured for her to keep moving. As they furtively progressed down more hallways, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into another room. She rolled her eyes. "Sark, back there, I was kidding. Of course I have a plan."  
  
"And I assume it includes the observatory?" Her jaw fell open. He nodded. "That's fine, there's just a small obstacle of at least five more men with guns at the door."  
  
She took a few calming breaths, trying to think of the alternatives. There weren't any. She moved onto routes past the men and into the room.  
  
"We need a distraction," Sydney concluded.  
  
Sark's brows rose. "Hey don't look at me. You're the one who waltzed in here and had to let everyone know you'd arrived. Who throws a grenade as soon as they enter the building? Why not just ask for the welcome mat? Hell, you could might as well wear a neon blinking light attached to the back of your head that says 'Shoot Here!'"  
  
Sydney tried. She really, honestly, did. But she couldn't help it. It started as a squeak. Then another. And another. By the time Sark was looking at her as if she was an insane person, she was full on laughing. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.  
  
"Come on," he grabbed her arm.  
  
She gradually stopped laughing. "And what? Have you forgotten we still need a plan What are you going to do, just run in there, guns blazing?"  
  
Sark continued to guide her down the darkened hallway and her eyes widened. "Oh no. We're not doing it this way. There's got to be a better plan in that intelligent brain of yours."  
  
"You've a better idea?" He dryly inquired. She shook her head mutely. He'd grabbed a gun from a fallen soldier earlier in their trip and cocked it mock-threateningly, before flashing her a quick grin. "Then let's go."  
  
* * *  
  
What happened next was kind of a blur. She remembered shooting, lots and lots of shooting, going back and forth like a volleyball. It vaguely reminded her of a mission that seemed like months ago--and was probably years--with Vaughn, where he was in their very position, except he was being shot at by Sark. And here she was, helping him break free.  
  
They exchanged two more rounds of fire and got up to run. This time, Sydney took the lead and burst through the doors. She thought she heard another shot, and felt Sark jump from behind her, but tucked it away for use at a later time and focused purely on getting them out of there.  
  
While sirens finally started wailing in their ears, she reached for the climbing gear in her pack and started attaching it to her waist. She rapidly threw around belt around his and locked it into place. Then she took the curved tri-hook and shot it straight up into the air. It broke through and rained little pieces of glass all over them. One sliced down her cheek and the other nicked the top of Sark's ear.  
  
Once that was done, she took the last connector and linked her belt with his, ensuring that they'd go up together at the same time. Unfortunately-- or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it--it required them to be unbearably close. Sark, of course, instantly picked up on this.  
  
"Sydney. All you had to do was ask," he stated, sounding drunk.  
  
"I never ask," she replied, tugging the wire tightly, to make sure it would hold. Gunfire sounded outside the corridor and she absently smoothed back his closely shorn hair. "Let's go."  
  
He put his hands around her waist and she locked hers in over his shoulders, mindful of his bruises, and shot the pulley with her gun. It yanked them up, fast, and gaining speed, until she told him to close his eyes and they crashed up through the glass ceiling. They immediately sprung apart and hurriedly shed the climbing gear. She grabbed for his hand and pulled him along the route Sloane had mapped out for them.  
  
Sure enough, there was one guard waiting for them at the end of the rooftop. There was a bullet through his head and she automatically looked up, following its journey with her eyes. Sloane was hanging precariously out of the Blackbird, wielding a rather nasty looking gun.  
  
She yanked Sark's hand, once, to get his attention and set about getting them both back in the air where they belonged. Once situated, she began tending to his wounds the best she could. There was blood leaking from his shoulder. She ripped the prison garb off and saw the hole the bullet had made when passing through.  
  
Her mind replayed the event in slow motion and she silently sent him another heap of gratitude, for being so strong. She didn't know how he'd done it, but was eternally thankful for it. He remained quiet as she cleaned it and set it with a bandage.  
  
Sloane watched their encounter and startled her by asking, "The journal?"  
  
Sydney reached down the front of her jacket and drew it out. "Here."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The rest of the flight was silent and Sark refused to meet her eyes until they got back to America.  
  
* * *  
  
The shocked looks on everyone's faces were almost enough to make the whole trip worth it. Lauren, she was gratified to see, was, for once, completely speechless. She'd taken one look at them and run straight back to Vaughn. Vaughn had raced from his desk back to the JTF offices, just in time to see a battered Sark and weary Sydney enter Dixon's office. He sighed despairingly.  
  
Weiss elbowed him. "What's the commotion?"  
  
"Sydney just came back."  
  
His eyes lit up. "Oh? Did she get the picture?"  
  
Vaughn paused long enough in his far away, yearning looks to stare at his friend disbelievingly. "What are you talking about?"  
  
Weiss grinned. "Oh, I'm not telling. This is one secret that will not pass through Eric Weiss lips." He walked away, chuckling to himself.  
  
The doors remained firmly closed and Vaughn sighed. What had Sydney done and why did he have the sinking suspicion it had something to do with Sark? He groaned and took a seat near the door. He'd intercept her when she came out and maybe then they could talk.  
  
If nothing else, he could give her some tips on being a handler. It looked like she wasn't doing too well.  
  
* * *  
  
"Sydney, what is the meaning of this? I distinctly remember telling you that you were forbidden to go in and extract Sark!" Dixon was all but yelling and she was forcibly reminded that he was, indeed, a very powerful man.  
  
Sark's eyebrows rose at this, and he quietly pouted. "Nice to see that you've such concern for my welfare."  
  
"Stay out of this," Sydney and Dixon barked simultaneously.  
  
His lower lip stuck out even further and he crossed his arms, slouching in his seat.  
  
Sydney glared right back at the man who had been her partner for so long and again, wondered what had happened to make him so. anal. She decided it would be best to save that question for another time. "Yes, I was ordered against going in *by myself*. And I did not disobey your orders, because I went in with another person. Then you add Sark, which brings us up to a grand total of three people. Clearly, I was not alone."  
  
Dixon could do nothing but blink furiously and shoot her a very angry look. Finally, he said, "Both of you, out of my office, *now!*"  
  
Sark examined his fingernails and pretended to be surprised when Sydney yanked him out of his chair and pulled him out the door.  
  
They were met by an office of staring CIA agents and one extremely vexed Agent Vaughn.  
  
"Sydney, what in the world is going on here?"  
  
She took a deep breath and tried to remember that killing him in plain view, with more than three-dozen witnesses was a very bad idea. Even if it would put her closer to Sark. No! No, she did not just think that! Bad Sydney!  
  
"If you would excuse me, I have to escort my agent back down to his cell. Then we have a debrief to write out. As you can see, I really don't have time to chat."  
  
He looked flustered at being shot down so fast, and at a loss for words. He opened his mouth several times, but nothing came out.  
  
"You know, your impression of a fish is really quite amazing. Perhaps the circus will have an opening for such talents. I still have a few contacts, I could inquire, if it's something you're interested in."  
  
"--Sark!" Sydney snapped, shooting him a death glare and shaking her head.  
  
He sighed and let himself be pulled along to the doors. At the last second, while they were rounding the corner, Sark looked back and saw Vaughn standing there, gaping in their wake. A deviant little thought crossed his mind and he stuck out his tongue. Vaughn's jaw dropped even lower but the doors closed before anything else could happen.  
  
"I saw that."  
  
* * *  
  
After they'd gotten him cleaned up and cleared by medical services, Sydney brought Sark back to his cell and watched emotionlessly as the guard locked the door again. They waited until he was gone before attempting to speak.  
  
"I wanted to thank you for--"  
  
She shook her head once, curtly. "It was nothing." Her eyes betrayed her, though, for they were still fiery with irritation directed at Vaughn and partially at their predicament. It was only a short period of time before Dixon cleared through his anger to ask who had accompanied her on the mission and telling him flat out "Arvin Sloane," would not go over well at all.  
  
Sark took in her folded-arm stance and the way she was nearly shaking and realized that he hadn't been the only one scared in the past 24 hours. Unfortunately, it was more than his battered mind could take, and he didn't care to analyze precisely what it meant. Which meant he would have to make it disappear, and the only way he knew how, standing behind a glass wall.  
  
"Why, Sydney. Can it be you were actually *worried* about me?"  
  
Her eyes drilled into him at the flipness of his statement. Instead of some sharp rejoinder, however, she sighed and quietly remarked, "Yeah. Believe it or not. . ." a self-deprecating smile as she seemed to be laughing at herself, "I was."  
  
For once, Sark was left speechless and could only watch as she walked away and disappeared from view.  
  
* * *  
  
Jack Bristow found his daughter on a folding chair, outside of Sark's cell. Hours had passed since her return and the toll was clearly written all over her face. She looked up at his footsteps and managed a weary smile.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi," he uncertainly replied. "I'm glad you're back."  
  
"Me too." She exhaled heavily, and closed her eyes briefly. It was a move that looked wrong on his daughter, something that aged her before his eyes and he didn't care for it much.  
  
Jack looked around the room and found another chair several feet away. He carried it over and set it down next to hers. "Sydney, I was there when Dixon told you not to go in, we talked about this--" he made as if to reach in his pocket, and she put a hand on his arm, effectively giving him pause. His expression was so wounded she almost laughed.  
  
"Dad. I only did what I felt necessary." Her gaze moved beyond him, to where Sark was fitfully sleeping on the narrow cot.  
  
He followed her gaze and frowned. "I hope you're not doing this out of guilt."  
  
Abruptly, the weight of Andrian Lazeray's death settled heavily back on her shoulders. It visibly seemed to upset her further and Jack put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Sydney," he lowers his voice in earnest and she looks at him with her little girl eyes. "You couldn't help this, it wasn't your fault."  
  
"Yes, it was."  
  
"No," Jack raised his voice an octave, careful not to wake Sark-- because the last thing they needed was for the cocky blonde assassin see their family dysfunction--"it wasn't. You didn't do this to him."  
  
She frowned at him. "Yes, Dad. I did."  
  
* * *  
  
Ooooh. Am I evil, or what? Talk about channeling Mr. Sark! Well, you know what, the length of this chapter more than makes up for the tricky cliffhanger I left you with. Have fun and don't forget to review! 


	5. Chapter 5

PERFECT WORLD | CHAPTER 5  
  
A/N: Can you believe I'm already planning a sequel to this? It's crazy. Anyway, here's chapter 5, and you'll get to see what Sydney meant when she told her father that Sark's imprisonment was her fault. Oh, and the way this chapter went? Guys, it totally wrote itself. For some reason, I have absolutely no control. It just comes and I interpret it the best I can. Not sure if I like that, yet.  
  
\\\ Indicate flashback\\\  
  
* * *  
  
Jack made sure he was fully attuned to his daughter. Her body language, the way her pulse jumped ever so slightly in her throat, the shaky hand that came up to tuck her hair behind her ear, just like her mother. These were all tell signs. Except, instead of lying, these were the signs that she was speaking the truth. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, attempting to put some distance between them.  
  
"So you went to Sloane."  
  
Sydney looked startled by the abrupt change in subject. "I don't really think we should be talking about this right now. . ."  
  
If he'd had any doubts that she had, in fact, gone to Arvin Sloane for help in getting Sark out, they'd just been firmly squashed. "I was referring to," he spoke slowly, carefully, hoping to convey the seriousness of the situation, "When Sark first got abducted. The day of, you had both gone to Sloane, with Lauren Reed. I assume whatever you're speaking of happened then."  
  
Her eyes darted to the video feed and she surreptitiously pressed a button on her watch. "We have three minutes."  
  
Jack nodded.  
  
She took a deep breath and prepared to explain.  
  
* * *  
  
\\\Sark walked into the room with a trace of smirk still on his face, from his encounter with Sloane.  
  
"Hi. We need to talk."  
  
His brows rose. "So talk."  
  
"This morning, we intercepted a message from the Covenant. They have a Rambaldi artifact."  
  
Sark rolled his eyes. "Isn't he dead already?"  
  
She stifled a smile and continued, "It just so happens that they're going to be in the area today, around the time we leave."  
  
The amused expression slowly faded from his face. "I'm not quite certain why you're telling me this."  
  
"Sark, I'm going to take a leap of faith here and ask you to do something. I want you to get inside the Covenant and find out what they have on me, on my past years. In exchange for that, I'll get an immunity agreement negotiated with Langley. You'll be free."  
  
He stared at her with suspicion in his eyes. "You don't have the authority to make such promises."  
  
"I may be out of the loop, but I got my father pulled from solitary confinement. I can sure as hell get you freed from custody."  
  
Razor-sharp as he always had been, Sark asked, "Why me? Why not undergo memory retrieval? Why involve yourself in my plight?"  
  
She sighed and looked away. "Because I know what it's like to lose two years of your life. And even if that were all we had in common, like it or not, your case was given to me. Sark, I've seen you pace in that little glass cell until it made me dizzy. You're just like my mom. You can't thrive in a box."  
  
"Thriving would naturally include killing, you realize that?"  
  
A smirk crossed her features. "If it helps me screw over Lindsay for locking up my father, I don't care if you kill a hundred men."  
  
Sark continued to watch her with midnight colored eyes. They were depthless and she felt like she was on the receiving end of a thousand-yard stare. "That's not true," he whispered softly. "It bothers you, the unnecessary taking of human life. It always has. That's what makes us different."  
  
A shudder passed through her and it was several moments before she could calmly reply, "We're not that different. And frankly, I just don't care anymore."  
  
Sark witnessed the decomposition of Sydney Bristow in a 10-second span. She was completely raw, vulnerable and open to any shots he wished to take at her. Raising troubled brown eyes to his, the question remained, unspoken.  
  
"Yes," he finally said, breaking the silence. "I'll do it."  
  
They did not talk about what would happen to the artifact. They did not speak of his capture and what it would entail. They refused to acknowledge the full consequences of their joint decision.  
  
Sark cleared his throat and reached a hand towards her chest. She moved back and was about to bat him away when he plucked a pen from her jacket pocket and clicked it firmly. Eyebrows raised, he held it out to her. She took it from him, embarrassed, and tucked it away in her briefcase.  
  
He cleared his throat again.  
  
"We should probably let them in," she started, going for the door. He grabbed her arm, uncaring of the fact that he'd invaded her personal space and that lately, very few could do so and still breathe afterwards.  
  
"Are you ready?"  
  
The faintest level of concern in his voice had her flustered. "Of course I am."  
  
He nodded minutely, and looked out the window.  
  
And when Lauren and Sloane walked in, it merely appeared that there had been a slight disagreement between handler and agent.///  
  
* * *  
  
A faint beeping echoed in the hall of the prison cells and father and daughter locked eyes, acknowledging that time was up.  
  
"Well." Jack stood, and replaced his chair. He took his time walking back over to her, eyes memorizing the look on her face as she rose to meet him. "I'm not sure you want to hear this, but standing here right now, you remind me of your mother. And you should know--I love both of you more than you could imagine. I don't want to see you hurt, Sydney. If you can get the results you need--" 'from Sark,' hung unspoken in the air, "--I'll do what I can to help."  
  
He blinked, probably startled that he'd admitted so much, and out loud. Sydney wasn't sure what shocked her more, the admittance of love for her mother, or the fact that he approved of her reluctant partnership with Sark.  
  
Jack turned to leave and she caught up with him, standing before him uncertainly. He opened his arms to her and she went in gratefully. He hugged her tightly, once and she leaned up to whisper in his ear, "I couldn't leave him there, Dad. He did this for me. It's my turn to make sure I hold up my end of the bargain."  
  
"I know, sweetheart. I know."  
  
She watched him walk away and thought of her mother and realized that he probably did know. God, this family was so messed up. Sydney walked back over to her chair and sat back down. She wasn't going to fail him. Not again.  
  
* * *  
  
Sark woke up with something crushing his chest uncomfortably. He attempted to shift positions and nearly blacked out from pain. It came rushing back to him. *Sydney. The Covenant. Rescue. Getting shot. And*, he reached awkwardly in his terribly unfashionable blue jumpsuit to pull out a sheaf of papers, *intel*.  
  
Wincing, he rolled over and managed to pin the papers underneath the mattress. The last thing they needed was for the CIA to get their hands on the document. His shoulder burned and he cursed creatively in Scandinavian.  
  
"I didn't know you could do that do to someone's ankles."  
  
Sark flipped over to see Sydney standing in front of the glass, and was rewarded with more searing waves of pain for his effort. He gritted out, "I haven't ever attempted it, but the world is full of possibilities." Not surprised that she had deciphered his comment--or that she apparently knew enough Scandinavian to get her through the day--Sark tucked away the pain into a far pocket of his mind and carefully made his way over to the glass.  
  
"You look terrible."  
  
She laughed. "You certainly know the way to a woman's heart."  
  
He snorted. "It's not my best line, I'll admit that. But between the two of us, we must make quite a pair." Letting his eyes linger on her longer than necessary, he took in the hollow look to her face, the way she stiffly held her right arm, and how she seemed to be favoring one leg more than the other.  
  
"Have you been cleared by medical services?" Sark asked, still glancing at her legs. It looked like she pulled a tendon, but with pants on and a 5-inch layer of bulletproof glass in between, he really couldn't tell.  
  
Sydney shifted and tried to distribute her weight more evenly. She wound up wincing. "No."  
  
He smirked and folded his arms behind his back. "Perhaps that would be a wise course of action."  
  
"Why Sark," her voice sounded sickeningly sweet to both of them, "are you concerned about me?"  
  
"You're my handler," he smoothly replied, "and somehow I don't think falling asleep in the next meeting with Dixon will have the same results as last time. Besides, I'm really in no rush to see Sloane again."  
  
"I'll see what I can do about that." She looked down the hallway, through the bars, to see two officials motioning to her. A smile briefly lit up her face. "Good news. You now have clearance to spend 15 minutes on the roof."  
  
"Joy."  
  
* * *  
  
She had given him her father's coat. Sark doubted Jack Bristow knew of this, for surely, if he did, a coat would be the last thing on his mind. The man was fiercely protective of his family, Irina had told him that much, and if, for some bizarre reason, he hadn't believed her, Sark had seen it quite a few times for himself. In the beginning of his imprisonment, he had fast learned that Jack was an exceptionally skilled interrogator, and that no methods were off limits for him.  
  
Sark's first several sessions had been very intense, and stayed that way until Jack had realized that he really didn't know where Sydney was. Things had cooled off then, and he had been turned over to someone else. Eventually, they lost interest. He had been unable to remember the last time he'd been seriously questioned after that, but his brief stay with the Covenant had agonizingly reminded him that his inner resolve wasn't nearly as strong as it should have been.  
  
Thankfully, nothing had slipped out, but the chance was always there, and. . . well, he'd rather not think about that right now.  
  
"Are you cold?"  
  
Of course, Sydney had noticed his action. His stuck his hands in his pockets and pretended it was an Armani suit. One thing about being a spy was that you had to have a suspension of disbelief. This often led to having a great imagination, which had very nearly been the only thing keeping Sark alive for the past few months.  
  
"I'm fine, thank you."  
  
And now they were chatting in the 20-degree weather like strangers. *Odd*, he mused. Here he was, with the woman who had come into rescue him when she could have easily left him to die, and their conversation had officially taken a turn into dullsville. He hated it. At the very least, they had always had their banter, something to fall back on when things got too tense, and it hadn't failed them at the worst moments, not even once. And now? It was as if he'd never met her before.  
  
Sydney paused in their circuit of the square roof and walked to the center of the blacktop. He followed. "The audio is weakest here," she explained, whispering from the corner of her mouth. "My mother and I discovered it."  
  
Had it already been that long? Good god, time really did seem to stand still, and then, when you least expected it--bam! It hit you right in the chest and you realized just how hopeless the situation was.  
  
"Did you find anything?"  
  
Her tone was slightly wistful and there was a small light hiding in the back of her eyes. Obviously, she was fighting against getting her hopes up, but they both knew at this point, that anything would be worth it. Saying as much in CIA territory, of course, was not the wisest thing. Sark wondered how long the documents would be safe underneath his mattress.  
  
Probably for a while. After all, they hadn't yet located her jacket and it had been almost a week. He gave it another six or seven days. The papers would have to be gone before that, just in case.  
  
He was silent, considering how to put into words what he'd gotten without sending alarms off in everyone's mind. "There was something," he said at last. "But it wasn't of the usual variety," his eyes flitted away to the guards for a moment, and locked back on hers. "Rather strange, in fact, considering."  
  
Despite the fact that he'd been almost painfully vague, most of the tension that she'd been holding in all morning escaped her body as if she'd just let out a giant sigh. 'You did find something,' she mouthed almost unnoticeably.  
  
Sark started their walk up again, and they made two more passes before he nodded slightly. He glanced at her sideways, wondering what she was thinking at that very moment.  
  
A smile had drifted onto her lips and there was gratitude in her velvety brown eyes. It stirred something in him and he decided, then and there, to set about making that look in her eyes a permanent thing. A man could get used to that, he knew. The feeling that you had made someone's whole world turn again. He felt that, and while unprepared for it, recognized that it wasn't a bad thing. She made a move as if the reach out to him and her hand hung halfway there, in the space between them. Any action of that sort would see them both with Uzis in their back and so he stared at her outstretched hand silently.  
  
A beat or two later, he stuck his own out and saw her smile. They didn't touch, didn't come close to it, but moving their hands in unison as if they had been joined and were shaking on a deal. It was one of the most peculiar things he'd ever done, and yet--it seemed beyond normal for them to do so.  
  
Her smile widened.  
  
His mind flitted back to last night and he remembered that hand on his forehead, brushing back his closely shorn hair. Something had been triggered inside both of them, then.  
  
Oh yes. They were in this together now, and clearly relying on the other for results.  
  
Trust? You'd better believe it. What a pity they hadn't developed it before, and had such difficultly giving it to others. Strange that their alliance had taken such a route to get to where they were now.  
  
Distracting him from the curious route his thoughts were taking was the loud foghorn of the guard tower. His time on the outside world was once again up. With a rueful smile, Sydney walked back to the front gate, needing to go through the security process first. Sark went shortly after and they were escorted back to his cell.  
  
It wasn't until the guards had gone that he allowed himself to think about the plan he'd formed while walking on the roof. A fool-proof way to get the papers to Sydney, but perhaps not before they were censored. At any rate, she would need someone to read them with.  
  
He sat back down on the cot and watched as she began to walk away. Once out of sight, he called, "Sydney?"  
  
She turned and walked back to see him holding the jacket in his hands lightly. "I believe your father might just want this back."  
  
He sure as hell didn't want it. That was one Bristow garment that could be directly returned to its rightful owner. He folded it so that it could fit in the little deposit box and she unlocked the top on her side, pulling it out.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Sark knew what she wasn't saying. His eyebrow went up in return, reminding her that they had a show to put on for the people upstairs.  
  
"Don't mention it."  
  
She half-heartedly glared at him and her heels echoed in the hallway as she walked away.  
  
He went back to his cot and sat on it lightly, fingers tracing the outline of where her jacket was flattened underneath. He smiled to himself and laid flat on his back, knees to the ceiling. So maybe sleep wasn't the best idea. Irina always said meditation worked wonders.  
  
Time to put it to the test.  
  
* * * 


	6. Chapter 6

Perfect World | Chapter 6  
  
A/N: went on break. It was a nice break, as far as breaks go. Unfortunately, I disappeared off the face of SD-1 earth, so after the angst and heaviness of Deceive, I need the comfort of this story. And it needs me. Enjoy. And try not to be too shocked at the ending. I mean, really. You should have seen it coming.  
  
* * *  
  
Jack hated working with other people. They were incompetent fools who didn't know how to get anything done. Except for maybe his daughter. But she was entirely too stubborn for her own good. So when he reached down to remove his jacket from his chair (how had it gotten there, anyway?) it puzzled him a great deal to feel resistance in the sleeve. Looking around carefully, he made sure no one was watching as he pulled out the offending object and shuffled it in with papers on his desk.  
  
At the top of the page was the header, 'Bristow, Sydney. Alias: Julia Thorne.'  
  
He frowned and looked up to see Sydney watching him with a hopeful smile. He would have smiled back, but he had a feeling she hadn't seen these documents yet. They had been given to him so he could protect her from the worst of it. All of a sudden, Jack knew who'd they'd come from. But there was someone he had to talk to first.  
  
* * *  
  
Sydney had seen the flash of emotion come over her father's face before leaving the office so abruptly that she decided to head after him. Whatever was on those papers had clearly upset him. And she wanted to talk about what Sark might have found--and the best way to get it out of him.  
  
"Sydney," Dixon put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her from leaving.  
  
She turned around, smile fixed firmly in place. "Yes?"  
  
His eyes conveyed a silent plea, something that years of partnership had taught her to read so clearly. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"  
  
This looked serious.  
  
"Of course."  
  
She'd just have to catch up with her dad later.  
  
* * *  
  
Parking garages, for all their usefulness, had to have the camera security disabled and looped on a false image before he could even enter the lower level. Then, as an extra precaution, he had to park behind a column in case an overly curious pedestrian walked by. Jack was thankful that the Town Car's windows were tinted. At least then he would have a chance to put things aside before someone walked up and asked questions.  
  
He left the office knowing the papers must have come directly from the Covenant. Which meant they came from Sark.  
  
Well, there was a conundrum for you.  
  
He attached the earpiece and connected to the wireless network. Within seconds he was in the private chat room. He smiled. And there she was.  
  
WE NEED TO TALK.  
  
::Nice of you to drop in, Jack. And how are you doing?::  
  
I HAVE INTEL ON SYDNEY'S TWO YEARS.  
  
::Source?::  
  
A FORMER ASSOCIATE OF YOURS.  
  
::. . .Sark?::  
  
YES.  
  
::How?::  
  
LONG STORY.  
  
::Tell me later. What happened?::  
  
APPARENTLY, SHE WAS BRAINWASHED.  
  
::Impossible.::  
  
WHAT MAKES YOU SAY THAT?  
  
::Project Christmas.::  
  
WHAT ABOUT IT? SHE ALREADY KNOWS.  
  
::You put the fail-safe in her.::  
  
WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT?  
  
::I would have done the same thing. ::  
  
WELL THAT SETTLES IT, THEN.  
  
::Jack. Tell me what you know. ::  
  
So he did. She took in the information without comment. And then--  
  
::You should go talk to him.::  
  
I'M ABOUT TO.  
  
::Give Sydney my love. ::  
  
OF COURSE.  
  
::. . .You should know by now that you already have mine.::  
  
She logged off before he could reply. That was Irina for you. Always liked to have the last word.  
  
* * *  
  
Dixon gestured for her to sit. "Do you think that Sark is ready to go on another mission?"  
  
That was totally not what she had been expecting. "Um." She could almost feel her brain rapidly shifting gears to compensate. "I don't know. I'll have to check."  
  
"I'd appreciate it if you would. Despite going against orders, your breakout from the Covenant was a one in a million shot--there's no getting around it, Sydney, you and Sark work very well together."  
  
Of course they did. They were professionals.  
  
"We're the best." She answered simply, getting up to leave.  
  
Dixon watched as she threaded way past people to get to her desk.  
  
Yes. They were.  
  
Sydney was on her way back to her computer when she saw her the screen that monitored Sark's cell. Her father was standing in front of the glass, talking. Sark had his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised, clearly resenting whatever he was saying.  
  
"Damn it. What's he doing down there?"  
  
* * *  
  
Sark heard the footsteps half a second before Jack did and they both stopped to look at Sydney's approach. While the bars raised to allow Sydney entrance to the holding area, Jack silently pocketed the pen before she could see and wonder what exactly was going on.  
  
Sark clasped his hands behind his back and presented her with a smirk. "Sydney."  
  
Her eyes jumped to him momentarily before fixing her attention on her father. "So. What's going on?"  
  
"Sydney--" he began, but she ignored him and turned to Sark.  
  
"Did you guys just have happy hour or something?"  
  
Jack put his hand on her arm. "Come find me when you're done here." He left them alone without another word.  
  
She chuckled nervously, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You'd think after all these years, I'd get used to that."  
  
"Sydney. You should talk to your father."  
  
She met his gaze with a measure of trust in her eyes. "This is it, huh?"  
  
Sark nodded.  
  
"It's gonna be okay, right?"  
  
Something in him ached to reach through the glass and taking her in his arms to shield her from the truth. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling, and didn't know exactly how to classify it, so he needed to distract her.  
  
"What originally brought you to my humble abode? Trying to save me from your father?"  
  
A smile eased its way onto her face and her eyes lost their scared look. "I might have been a little late for that."  
  
"I've handled worse."  
  
A sudden image of Sark's first meeting with his date's parents flew into her head.  
  
"Feel like sharing?"  
  
Sydney was still smiling as she replied, "Nope." His brow rose, clearing indicating his displeasure. "Trust me, Sark. You had to be there."  
  
"You're really quite a piece of work, Sydney."  
  
Strangely enough, she blushed slightly and again moved her hair aside. "Actually," she said, "I came to see how you were feeling about going on another mission."  
  
Something appeared on his face before he schooled his features into impassivity. "I don't see why not."  
  
She sensed his hesitation and changed the subject. "So you think I need to talk to my father?"  
  
"Things looked a bit tense from this side of the glass."  
  
"Perceptive, aren't you?"  
  
"Always."  
  
He gave her one last glance over before committing her image to memory. Once she'd found out what was on those papers, she'd never be quite the same.  
  
"What?" Sydney asked, feeling self-conscious.  
  
He shook his head, inwardly laughing at his own foolishness. She was just going to find out what had happened to her, after all. She wasn't about to die. "Nothing," he finally said, moving to the floor for some exercise.  
  
Sydney looked a little hurt at his dismissal, but shrugged it off. "I guess I'll see you later."  
  
Sark paused halfway through his pushup and looked up at her. "I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Instantly feeling better, she smiled and left to find her father. Sark wondered why he'd felt compelled to put her at ease when everything was telling him to push her away.  
  
Must have something to do with the papers.  
  
He always had a fondness for J names.  
  
* * *  
  
After grabbing her things and locating her father in his office, Sydney found herself sitting beside him on the helipad of the CIA building. The wind whipped her hair around fiercely and she struggled to stay patient as he brought out papers and a laptop.  
  
From inside his bag, he also withdrew two small to-go cups. She took the one he offered her and was surprised to taste vanilla ice cream. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because he then said, "I remembered you liked them when you were younger."  
  
Jack put down his own milkshake and attempted a reassuring look. He was met with Sydney's fading smile that appeared entirely too much like his own.  
  
"Dad. What did Sark find?"  
  
"While you were in the Covenant's custody, they attempted to brainwash you into a skilled assassin; Alias of Julia Thorne. Project Christmas--" there was a slight hesitation as he contemplated what seemed like a lifetime ago, "--kept that from happening, or at least from getting very far into your subconscious. While we're still not certain of just how deeply you were affected, or just what you did as Julia, there was one final thing in the papers."  
  
She nodded, waiting for him to go on.  
  
"Evidently, you were the carrier for someone named Jade Lazarey."  
  
* * * 


	7. Chapter 7

Perfect World Chapter 7  
  
Note: Well. I suppose I owe you all some explanation for that ending. I really don't know what's gotten into me lately with these cliffhangers. They just sort of hang on to me and refuse to let go. We're slowly winding down here, and we're almost done. Give it maybe three more chapters. Then comes the sequel. :D  
  
Special thanks to Katana for the beta. You're the bestest!  
  
To say she was shocked would have been putting it mildly.  
  
"What?"  
  
He spoke slowly, as if reciting the details from memory. "You carried Jade for a little over nine months. After that, there was no record of her. There's barely anything about her in the file that Sark took the Covenant because they didn't understand just whom Jade was in relation to you. She's mentioned a total of four times, but nothing beyond that."  
  
She snatched the papers out of its hands, read it over again and gasped. "No. This can't be happening. You're telling me I carried someone inside me for nine and half months," Sydney yanked up her t-shirt and pointed to her scar, "Dad, this can't be happening."  
  
"Sydney," he reached for her arm and covered the exposed skin. "It doesn't necessarily mean you were pregnant."  
  
Sydney folded her arms resolutely. "And Lazarey?" Because, really, how could you escape that last name?  
  
Jack shook his head. "Let's not jump to conclusions."  
  
"So basically," she got up to begin pacing, "I either carried Sark's baby-or his sibling." Sydney shuddered. "God, this is just so wrong."  
  
He stood and put his hands on her shoulders. "Look. You and Sark are supposed to go on assignment soon. Talk to him then."  
  
Something clicked for Sydney. "That's why you were down there before!"  
  
"Not..." he trailed off. "--exactly."  
  
FLASHBACK  
  
"Mr. Bristow. To what do I owe this honor?" Jack withdrew a pen from his jacket and Sark rolled his eyes. "They really need to get you new toys."  
  
"We have about 60 seconds," Jack answered, suddenly all business.  
  
"I'd say more like 52, by now."  
  
"49, but who's counting? Where did you get the papers?"  
  
"They were part of a file I lifted from the Covenant."  
  
"Can you verify their authenticity?"  
  
Sark held his gaze a beat longer than necessary. "Then you've read them."  
  
"Answer the question, Sark."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Jack nodded to himself. "Does Sydney know?"  
  
The younger man's eyes flicked to the security camera. "Not yet."  
  
"Tell me, Mr. Sark. Do you plan on holding this over my daughter's head to secure your freedom?"  
  
The pen beeped and Sark had to smile.  
  
"Excellent timing." He folded his arms. "But I believe you asked me a question."  
  
Sark waited for Jack to mention something about the cameras, but he didn't. Again, he smiled. "Mr. Bristow," he drawled, the fire in his eyes betraying the calmness in his voice, "I do not plan on holding anything over Sydney's head, regardless of the outcome. We both know I want my freedom, but not enough to put her in a position where she would have to question her value to me."  
  
He looked past Jack expectantly and folded his arms. "Have fun explaining this to her."  
  
END FLASHBACK  
  
By the time he had finished, she was glaring and anything having to do with Jade Lazarey was forgotten. "Dad! I can't believe you did that!" She also couldn't believe Sark's answer. What did he mean by that, anyway?  
  
He shrugged unconcernedly. "It had to be done."  
  
She rolled her eyes and hissed, "So why didn't you just take him into an interrogation room, then? That was totally unnecessary!"  
  
Her adamant defense of Sark had him worried. "Sydney--you're not getting... attached, are you?"  
  
All the air whooshed out of her in one breath. "What if I was?" He opened his mouth to speak and she put a hand up. "You know what? Just forget it. There's nothing you can say that won't make you sound like the world's biggest hypocrite."  
  
Irina did have a habit of showing up in the worst conversations, didn't she? Sydney left the rooftop before he could stop her and Jack had the sensation of being 35 years old again, telling a teenage Sydney, no, she couldn't date the boy next door.  
  
He shook out of it. There were times when he just wished her mother could deal with it. Then again, Irina might just lock Sark and Sydney in a room until they sorted things out.  
  
That probably wouldn't be the best idea.  
  
"I want to see the prisoner," she demanded, quickly flashing her badge. She might have been gone for nearly two years, but it didn't matter whether it was Sark or her mother she wished to see. Sydney Bristow didn't take no for an answer.  
  
The bars raised and she ducked underneath, not willing to wait. Striding up to the guard on duty, she gestured at the door to Sark's cell.  
  
"Open it."  
  
He looked at her helplessly. "Agent Bristow, the prisoner is--"  
  
"--Sleeping, yes, I can see that." She folded her arms and drew herself up to her full height. "Now open the door."  
  
"But--"  
  
Her eyes narrowed in warning.  
  
The bigger man gulped audibly and unlocked the door. Once inside, she felt a moment's remorse for her behavior. She put her hand on the glass, attempting an apology. "Lock us in, if you have to."  
  
The man didn't wait to be asked twice. He locked the door and flew the hallway shortly after. She then turned her attention to Sark.  
  
He was sleeping with his back to her, on his side, affording her a view of the long length of his body. Even though he'd been confined for the past two years, he'd managed to stay fit. Sark probably kept the same exercise routine her mother had. But whereas her mother slept soundly each night-- when she slept in the first place--he was tossing about. If he shifted around much longer, he'd be on a first-name basis with the floor.  
  
She reached in her pocket for a remote and aimed it at the video camera in the corner. The little red light suddenly stopped blinking and the camera shifted to a very uninteresting view of the floor.  
  
Sydney walked over to the cot and perched on the edge of it, unsure of what to do next. What was she supposed to do? Ask him who the hell Jade was? Impulse had led her this far, but she'd taken on look at him and impulse had run away screaming. She hadn't actually thought about what she would do if she'd gotten in.  
  
Saving her from making that decision was Sark himself. His eyes flew open, he flipped their positions, and had her wrists pinned above her head before she could blink.  
  
"Sydney?"  
  
Unable to move, she cast her eyes up towards their hands. "Do you mind?"  
  
Sark reluctantly let go, shifting over to let her sit up. She tucked her knees up and rested her chin on them, starting directly ahead.  
  
"Sydney?" He questioned in a gentler tone.  
  
She tilted her head to look at him. "Do you trust me?"  
  
"Of course," he replied without hesitation.  
  
Not for the first time, Sydney marveled at their current status. Here she was, sharing a cell with one of the most wanted terrorists of the United States Government. And they trusted each other with their lives. Not only that, but it was more comfortable here than it ever was two floors above, talking to the citizens and people who worked for the country.  
  
"Okay," she said. "That's all I'm asking. Just... trust me."  
  
Sark lifted a brow in return and swept his arm at the rest of the cell. "Make yourself at home."  
  
For the first time, she saw the tiny space through his eyes. A person couldn't live like this. She had to get him out. But--she allowed him to help her recline, moving automatically for him to be situated next to her-- maybe it could wait until the morning.  
  
With only an inch of space between them, Sydney took precious care not to jostle them right off the bed. He cursed under his breath. "Forget this," he slung an arm over her waist and tugged her to him. At her shocked look, Sark widened his eyes innocently. "Space issues."  
  
Sydney shook her head. "You are too much."  
  
"Can you forgive me for trying to make the most of a situation?" at her gaping look, he added, "You're the one who came down here, after all, and there's no reason why I should be the one to go crashing to the ground when it's my bed in the first place."  
  
"Sark," she began, watching his eyes watch her, "get some rest. Sleep debt is making you punchy."  
  
"You're an awfully demanding bed-mate, you realize that?"  
  
"So I'm told."  
  
He pinched her side teasingly. "Careful, Sydney. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were beginning to like me."  
  
Sydney moved to put her back at him, and traced a finger along the brick wall. Try as she might, she couldn't fight back the tiny smile that spread across her lips as she drifted off to sleep.  
  
Despite her order, which he was probably supposed to follow since she was, after all, his handler, he'd barely slept. Sark had the sensation of being watched all night and wondered why, exactly, no one had picked up on the fact that there was a very capable agent sharing his bed.  
  
But the brief time he'd been asleep, it was the deepest he'd had in a very long time. Probably before Allison had been doubled. And that was saying a lot. This whole experience was vaguely reminiscent of the first time she'd come to see him after his return, after finding out she'd been assigned to him. Rather unsettling, actually. Like it had been preordained or something. But that was ridiculous.  
  
Wasn't it?  
  
"Morning," Sydney mumbled from behind her yawn.  
  
Sark looked at where she was scrunched against the wall and once again slung his arm around her. "Good morning, my lovely handler. And how did you sleep?"  
  
She chuckled and sat up. "As well as someone can when they don't have much of a mattress. That's going to have to change."  
  
"Agent Bristow, on the case. I'm impressed."  
  
"Well, I figured if I wanted to hide from people again, it had better be comfortable."  
  
His gaze softened. So she was hiding, then. But that couldn't have been the entire story. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
She sighed and leaned her head against the hard brick wall. "Because, when you look at me, I don't have to scramble and try to fit your perceptions of the person I should be. You don't expect anything from me and yet I always feel like I should be giving something to you. When I'm with you, I can just be Sydney. I don't have to be Sydney-minus-two-years or Sydney-the- prodigal-daughter, or Sydney-the-woman-who-was-loved-by-Agent-Vaughn." She turned her head to look at him. "And I'm sorry if you were expecting this short little answer that--"  
  
Sark cupped her cheek in his hand, the touch startling Sydney from her confession. With his eyes locked on hers, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers briefly, with just enough pressure to infer the true intent. It was over far too soon and she found she had to physically restrain herself from responding further. There had to be a reason he'd stopped when he did. Sark always had a reason.  
  
"Don't ask me what that was," he kept his eyes on her face, visually caressing her features when he would not lift his hand to do the same. "It doesn't matter what that was."  
  
"It doesn't matter." She repeated, obviously confused.  
  
His brow rose and he firmly added, "--What that was. The act itself," a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips, "of course, does."  
  
She watched him without saying a word for nearly a full minute. Just when he thought he was about to fidget, she exhaled loudly and stood up. "I should go."  
  
Amused, Sark reclined back against the metal cot. "Yes. Preferably before they locate your hiding spot."  
  
"So. I'm, uh--"  
  
"--Going." He finished, the amusement turning into a full-fledged smirk.  
  
She didn't hate that he was laughing at her as much as she should have. Rather, she was thinking more of what would inevitably happen once she left the relevant safety of his cell. Outside was the world where people and feelings and unknown destinies and old prophets collided. She'd been drawn into that world and was desperately clawing her way out. But it seemed that every time she got closer, every time she began to see beyond the darkness of the hole she was stuck in, something set her back.  
  
If she took too many more setbacks, she'd be at square one. And she knew that she didn't have the strength to fight from there.  
  
Sark noticed her rapid deterioration. He closed his eyes as if in prayer and mumbled something softly before getting up and walking over to her. "At the risk of sounding terribly redundant, I'm going to do my best to reassure you that everything will work out."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
His look of concern melted away as he lifted his chin deliberately. "I just do."  
  
Sydney gave him a long, hard look in return. But she was unable to fight the smile creeping across her lips. "Whatever you say, Sark."  
  
Thankful that she was smiling and at least one of their mutual problems had been resolved, Sark returned to his cot. It suddenly looked much more appealing. He wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that Sydney had slept on it. Probably.  
  
Once she was led away, he let a frown surface. He hadn't wanted to retreat into arrogance to pull her out of her depression. Actually, he hadn't wanted to pull her out of the mood in the first place. That was something she was going to need to learn, and fast, especially if she wanted to stay alive in their business. She didn't need to be coddled and he almost hated himself for giving into the urge. One way or another, she would come out of this.  
  
But not without scars.  
  
She had to be tough enough to see the scars, acknowledge they were there, and move on. She had to learn to live with them.  
  
Otherwise, she simply wouldn't survive.  
  
He glanced out the glass wall. No one. Then he looked up at the camera. It was still pointed at the floor. Certain that no one was watching him, at least at that moment, Sark carefully fitted his fingers between the mattress and the metal holder. He smiled when they ran along the fabric of the jacket.  
  
Some spy she was.  
  
"Hey, Bristow!"  
  
Sydney turned to see Weiss waving her down. She smiled and waited for him to catch up. "I was just going to grab some breakfast down the street. You want to come?"  
  
"Yeah, sure. Hey, listen. Is everything okay?"  
  
She waited until they were in the elevator to answer him. "Sure. Why? You think there's something wrong with me?" There was a slight smile on her face as she teased him.  
  
He rolled his eyes. "No, it's just--I didn't hear you get in last night. Wasn't sure if you were stuck with the write-up from hell or something."  
  
They exited the elevator and left the building.  
  
"I had some work to catch up on," Sydney allowed, hesitating. At his encouraging smile, she went on, "And I wanted to make sure Sark was doing okay."  
  
Weiss stopped short, grabbing her arm. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that? It sounded like--"  
  
"--I know what it sounded like. But yesterday, my father had been down to see him and I wanted to make sure he hadn't," Sydney paused, trying to find the words.  
  
He found them for her. "Roughed him up beyond all sense of reason?"  
  
She playfully swung her fist at him. "Weiss!"  
  
"Hey, you know it's the truth!" He ordered for them at the little breakfast stand. When their order was up, he handed her a bagel with cream cheese, which she munched on gratefully. They wandered over to a bench and sat for a minute, just enjoying each other's company.  
  
"So how was he? Was he bruised or anything?"  
  
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. "I almost just spit bagel at you."  
  
He waved her off nonchalantly. "It's happened before. Many women lose their appetite after just catching a glimpse of me." Weiss frowned. "Wait. That didn't come out right."  
  
Still smiling, Sydney gave him an edited version of her rooftop meeting with her father, leaving out the parts about Jade and all things possibly related to Lazarey. She did, however, not skimp on the details of her father's visit to Sark.  
  
"So then I asked why he didn't just strap Sark down and start asking the questions--"  
  
"--Because you'd rather be the one doing that," Weiss so helpfully supplied.  
  
"--Right," Sydney agreed, not really paying attention, "and he--" she blinked. "What did you just say?"  
  
Weiss grinned. "So, where's that picture?"  
  
Sydney put up her hand. "Whoa. Slow down."  
  
"No." He pulled her to her feet and they walked back to the CIA building. "I really want to see it. I know you picked it up from the art dealer last week, I heard you talking on the phone. Would you consider a private showing? Just for me?" A thought crossed his mind and his eyes widened. "Is it a dirty picture?!"  
  
Her jaw dropped. "Weiss!"  
  
"Well, you never know. And you still haven't given me an answer. Maybe it is a dirty picture."  
  
"I am not going to dignify that with a response."  
  
He shook his head mock-despairingly. "Ah, Syd. At least I can say I knew you when your mind wasn't so entrenched in naughty things."  
  
She stopped dead in her tracks.  
  
Weiss laughed. "Last one to their desk is a rotten egg!"  
  
Sydney finally gave into the laughter that had been bubbling at the surface ever since they'd exchanged hellos.  
  
"Phew. Mission accomplished." He wiped some imaginary sweat off his brow. "I finally got you to laugh."  
  
Sydney slung her arm around him and they walked back to the offices.  
  
According to Dixon, there had been new intel that could be beneficial to use against the Covenant. But, also according to Dixon, Sark was needed at the meeting. Sydney and Weiss were dispatched to retrieve him.  
  
Sark was doing pushups when they stopped at his cell. He got up and dusted his hands off. "Nice to see you again so soon, Sydney."  
  
Mindful of Weiss' presence, she retorted, "Shove it, Sark."  
  
But Weiss caught the smile and good-natured tone she sent Sark's way. Interesting.  
  
As the guard unlocked the door and presented Sark to the two agents for approval, Weiss leaned over to Sydney and whispered in her ear. "Are you sure all you did was talk?"  
  
Her eyes widened in outrage and she elbowed him in the side. "Stop it."  
  
Sark took in their exchange and settled between the two. "Well. Shall we?"  
  
Weiss grinned. "Yeah. Let's go before Dixon sends Jack after us."  
  
Sydney closed her eyes in embarrassment and blindly walked ahead of them.  
  
"I am going to pretend I have some idea of what is going on," Sark told the other man, "and assume that you've been teasing Sydney about her father's somewhat... overprotective nature."  
  
"Something like that," Weiss agreed, as they left the detention center. "Something like that."  
  
They were halfway there when he couldn't ignore it any longer. Weiss looked at Sark and Sydney. Sydney and Sark. Sark and Sydney.  
  
"What?" She asked at last, getting tired of the measured looks.  
  
"Nothing," he put his hands in the air, as if trying to ward off her sharp tone and dark look.  
  
He kept staring.  
  
"Weiss!!"  
  
He jumped slightly at her voice. "What?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. Sark couldn't help but smirk and realized it would be prudent to step in before the other man had a black eye. "Agent Weiss, I believe what Miss Bristow is trying to convey--by her thinly veiled death look and spiteful tone of voice--is that your staring is not appreciated."  
  
"Oh, so now it's Miss Bristow?"  
  
Sark met Sydney's incredulous look with a tolerant one of his own and actually had to put a hand on her arm to get her moving again. "Just ignore him," he murmured, leaning down to her ear.  
  
She just focused on putting one foot in front of the other and tried to distract her mind from all the ways she could put Weiss in pain with a few quick maneuvers. He was still staring as they walked into the Debrief room. When Sydney was certain that no one was watching, she punched him on the arm.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
Dixon and Jack looked up expectantly.  
  
He chuckled nervously. "Ah--I had a cramp. In my foot. Sorry."  
  
They nodded and went back to their discussion. He glared at Sydney, who smiled sweetly from her seat in return and looked down to examine her fingernails. Sark winked at him.  
  
While he was busy gaping, Lauren and Vaughn walked in. She smiled and went to sit next to him. Vaughn took the other seat and leaned over. "You okay?"  
  
He shook out of it. "Oh sure. Just trying to get used to Bonnie and Clyde over there, that's all."  
  
Vaughn finally noticed where a prison-clad Sark was seated comfortably next to Sydney on the other side of the room. He opened his mouth to speak just as Jack inquired of his health.  
  
Slowly, his gaze swung away from the two people across the room that seemed to be in their own world and was met with a frank stare from the elder Bristow.  
  
"I'm fine, thanks for asking."  
  
Jack nodded. "I was glad to help Lauren with the release forms," he looked pointedly at Weiss, "it's good to have you back."  
  
Vaughn, who was a little overwhelmed at the show of--well, anything--from Jack Bristow, managed to say thank you again and fell silent. Lauren reached across Weiss and squeezed his hand comfortingly.  
  
From her seat, Sydney sent her father a grateful look that did not go unnoticed by Sark. He also saw Jack's slight responsive nod, and got the feeling that things had been restored between the two. Irina would have been pleased. He tucked that nugget of information away for later use and came back to see Marshall walking in the room.  
  
"Uh--sorry I'm late, everyone. There was a problem with the video feed in the, uh, prison area--Mr. Sark's cell, to be exact--" he looked up from his clipboard to find Sark staring at him and gulped--"Which is not to say that Sark had anything to do with it, 'cause y'know, I'm sure he didn't, but I had to fix it and talk to the tech guys and--"  
  
"--Marshall," Dixon quietly interrupted, gesturing to the open seat.  
  
He gratefully sat and ducked when he saw Sark watching him curiously.  
  
"Is Marshall," Sark whispered to Sydney, "all right? Why does he keep looking me as if I'm going to shoot him in front of six witnesses?"  
  
She hid a smile behind her hand. "He's Marshall," she replied, as if that explained everything.  
  
"Yes, I can see that." He dryly replied. "That hasn't changed."  
  
Dixon stood up, and aimed a remote at the plasma screen at the front of the table. A tall, dark-haired man filled the screen. "The man you see here claims to have information on the Covenant. He's willing to sell to the highest bidder--but our intel indicates that he also has information on the former Alliance, The Man's organization, and the KGB."  
  
Jack looked at Dixon in askance, who nodded. "Obviously, this would be an incredible asset for the CIA if we got in touch with him--anything on the Covenant is welcome at this point. Sark, Sydney, you're going in to rendezvous with him in Milan. He'll be waiting on the rooftop of this restaurant."  
  
A picture of a flashy restaurant shared half of the screen with the contact. It looked loud and bright--everything that a normal person trying to save their skin wouldn't ordinarily choose.  
  
"And we're sure that they want to meet here?" Vaughn questioned, voicing what everyone in the room was thinking.  
  
"It is strange to pick such a public place for a meet such as this," Jack admitted, "but this source hasn't steered us wrong before and we're learning that everything the man predicts almost nearly always comes true."  
  
"It's Sloane," Sydney jokingly whispered to Sark, with a smirk on her face.  
  
He merely cleared his throat in response, getting Jack's attention in the process. "Am I to understand that Agent Bristow and I are being shipped off to Italy soon?"  
  
"Three hours," Dixon put in, nodding slightly at the pair. "Marshall with see to the op-tech and there will be a jet waiting for you at a nearby military airspace."  
  
"Do you want us to bring him in?" Sydney asked.  
  
"If you can. If it's too much of a risk, then let him go--we want to extend a gesture of goodwill toward him and taking him into custody may not be the best way to do that." Jack answered.  
  
Dixon turned off the screen and folded his hands. "You'll have authorization to complete the transaction with money from an off-shore account. If there are no other questions, you two should get your things ready to go. The sooner you're there, the better chances we have of a successful exchange."  
  
Sydney glanced at Marshall. "Oh, right. Um, Syd, if you and Sark could just stop by before you go, I'll have what you need for the trip."  
  
"You got it," she smiled at him.  
  
He smiled back and left the room, hurrying to get the stuff together. Weiss, Lauren and Vaughn watched as Sark and Sydney left the room without another word.  
  
"If you're wondering why you were invited to this meeting," Jack began, drawing their attention away from the departing pair, "Dixon felt it would be best to keep you appraised of the current situation with the Covenant. Of course, that won't mean much if you just stay here all day," he stood up and headed for the door, "so I suggest you get back to work."  
  
Weiss just shook his head in disbelief. "Just when you think you're beginning to know Jack Bristow..."  
  
Vaughn shook his head. "Why did I think the man was starting to like me?"  
  
Lauren looked at the two men and shook her head. "You two are really taking it too personally. Jack's just concerned about Sydney. Can't you see that?"  
  
Weiss and Vaughn exchanged looks. Sydney was going on a mission with Sark. Of course Jack was worried about Sydney. They all were.  
  



End file.
